


Social Animals

by Ostentenacity



Series: creatures of habit [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Developing Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostentenacity/pseuds/Ostentenacity
Summary: From his very first day in the archives, Martin knows he isn’t going to fit in. It’s not the way his new coworkers dress—though it certainly doesn’thelpthat, like almost everyone in the Institute, they look like polished, professional, moderately-well-off academics, while Martin… doesn’t.  Rather, it’s the way that their daemons are already familiar with each other,friendlywith each other, while his daemon hangs back by his own feet.---Or: Martin and his daemon make some new friends.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker
Series: creatures of habit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173755
Comments: 18
Kudos: 50





	Social Animals

**Author's Note:**

> May get additional chapters in the future focusing on different relationships! But writer’s block is a hell of a thing, so I make no promises. Thanks to [bluejayblueskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies) for beta reading!
> 
> Also, while this fic takes place before [“It Won’t Be Long”](/works/28616592), that one is arguably a better introduction to this AU.
> 
> Content warnings & AU notes at the end.

From his very first day in the archives, Martin knows he isn’t going to fit in. It’s not the way his new coworkers dress—though it certainly doesn’t  _ help _ that, like almost everyone in the Institute, they look like polished, professional, moderately-well-off academics, while Martin… doesn’t. Rather, it’s the way that their daemons are already familiar with each other,  _ friendly _ with each other, while Aloysius hangs back by Martin’s feet.

* * *

Aloysius lets out a sad huff of air for the fifth time this morning. Martin reaches down to pat his head as surreptitiously as he can. It’s not fair to wish he were a different shape, but Martin sometimes does anyway, and he suspects Aloysius does too. Not because there’s anything  _ wrong _ with him, of course not, it’s just—he’s just an awkward size, that’s all. Too big to comfortably fit onto a shoulder or a lap or even a corner of the desk like Tim’s jay or Sasha’s ferret, but also not tall enough to see what Martin is doing even if he had his own chair. 

Sasha’s daemon—Will, Martin thinks she’d called him—chitters and scrambles across her desk to pull a sheet of paper out of a stack. Sasha glances it over, then picks it up and studies it intently. Meanwhile, Tim’s Honoria murmurs something in his ear, her little beak scarcely moving, and he nods and reaches up to trail a finger along her wing.

Aloysius shifts where he’s tucked under Martin’s chair. Martin bites back a sigh of his own.

* * *

“I just don’t know what I’m doing  _ wrong,” _ Martin says, trying not to let his voice slide into a whine. Normally, he’d feel more self-conscious complaining about his workplace woes, but the pub is noisy, and he’s had a bit to drink, and Tim is so very, very easy to talk to. “My reports aren’t  _ that _ bad. So maybe I miss something here or there—that’s not a capital crime!”

Tim pats his back soothingly. “I’m sure he’ll get over himself sooner or later,” he says.

“Will he?” Martin asks, looking up at him beseechingly.

Tim makes a face. “Er—probably? Hopefully. Maybe.” Honoria pecks his ear, and he winces.

Martin puts his head on his crossed arms and groans. 

“Listen, Martin,” says Tim. “Jon’s just being a prick. I dunno why he’s picking on you, but he’s got no reason to. Typos and formatting aside, you’re every bit as good a researcher as me, or Sasha, or—anyone else in the Institute. I mean, hell, you’ve been here almost ten years, right? Honestly, I dunno why  _ you _ didn’t get the promotion instead of him. You’ve both got a Master’s, and you actually did, y’know, storage and organization and everything in the library—”

The guilt which Martin has been suppressing on and off for the better part of a decade surges up once more. 

“...Martin?”

Uh oh. Tim must have seen something in his face. Time to come up with a lie, quickly—

Al makes a little whining sound and puts a paw on Martin’s knee. Martin looks down at him, and out of the corner of his vision, he sees Tim look as well. Al looks up at Martin’s face and says quietly, “Tell him.”

“Tell me what?” When Martin looks up, Tim has a pinched, worried look on his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” says Martin, and then, feeling oddly like he’s taking a running leap off a cliff, “Well, yes, but not  _ bad, _ just—I don’t. Have a Master’s degree, that is.”

Tim blinks. Clearly, whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “But… then… how did you…?”

“Get hired at the Institute?” Tim nods, and Martin runs a hand through his hair. “I just… lied. That’s all. Made up a bunch of impressive-looking stuff to put on my CV. I guess they just never checked.”

“Wait.” Tim holds up a hand. “When you say ‘a bunch of impressive-looking stuff’...”

Martin looks down. “I don’t have a degree at all, actually. Left sixth form early, started working right away.”

Tim whistles. When Martin gets the nerve to peek up at him, he’s surprised to see a broad grin on Tim’s face. “God  _ damn, _ that’s impressive. You’ve worked here, what, ten years? And no one’s figured it out?” He shakes his head. “Nerves of  _ steel.  _ Remind me never to play poker with you.”

Martin laughs, shaky but relieved. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

“What? Of course not! Scout’s honor.” 

“Aren’t scouts supposed to be  _ honest,  _ or something? Not tell lies to their bosses?”

Tim waves a hand vaguely in the air. “Details.” 

Privately, Martin thinks Tim is laying it on a bit thick. But at least he seems sincere enough about having Martin’s back. “Thank you, Tim. I—it means a lot.”

“‘Course,” says Tim. “I couldn’t very well turn you in when Al told you to trust me, now, could I?”

“That would be  _ unforgivable,”  _ Honoria chimes in from her perch on Tim’s shoulder. Then, to Martin’s utter surprise, she hops down, the dark tips of her wings flashing as she circles Martin to land squarely on top of Aloysius’s muzzle. 

Aloysius blinks and then looks up at Martin. Martin, for his part, is staring at Honoria, who has begun busily preening the fur on top of Al’s head. Martin’s face feels warm, though not from embarrassment or shame—more as though he’d suddenly turned to look at a cozy fireplace. 

After a moment, Tim says something Martin doesn’t quite catch. A minute or so later, there’s a gentle  _ thump _ of something being set down on the table. Martin looks up to see that two glasses of water have materialized, one in front of him and one in front of Tim. Tim picks up his own glass. “I dunno about you,” he says, “but I think I’ll be ready to head out pretty soon. You good to take the Tube, or do you want to call a cab?”

Martin takes stock of himself. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I think I’ll be good.”

They end up walking to the station together. Honoria stays perched on Al’s head until it’s time for Martin and Al to step onto the train.

* * *

The next Monday, when Aloysius curls up under Martin’s chair, Honoria hops down from Tim’s desk and flutters down to land beside him. Martin, suddenly nervous, is very careful to keep his legs out of her way, but she barely seems to notice him, intent on picking invisible dust out of Aloysius’s shaggy fur. Martin glances up at Tim, who is affecting nonchalance. 

“If Nora gets too distracting, you can tell her to come back to my desk,” is all Tim says. “We won’t be offended.” 

“Thanks,” Martin mumbles. Beneath his chair, Aloysius’s tail begins to wag, uncertainly at first. But it only takes Al a few minutes to start feeling bolder; Nora peeps in surprise when Al attempts to return the favor by licking the top of her head, and Martin snickers at the startled look on Tim’s face. 

Jon, passing through the assistants’ office, rolls his eyes at the commotion. He doesn’t say anything, though, just scuttles off to his office. His little gray cat sticks very close to him, as usual, but Martin could swear she looks over her shoulder at Al and Honoria for a moment as the door swings closed, head and tail both held low.

But for once, Jon’s irritability can’t bring Martin’s mood down. It’s been a long time since Al has been anything but miserably bored while Martin is at work, but now with Honoria for company—and maybe Will, too, if he stops peeping curiously over the edge of Sasha’s desk and joins in—perhaps the days will begin to pass easier. 

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: a touch of social isolation; alcohol/mild drunkenness; characters making impulsive decisions while under the influence (but everything turns out fine).
> 
> In this chapter:  
> \- Martin’s daemon: Aloysius (Al), small mixed-breed sheepdog  
> \- Tim’s daemon: Honoria (Nora), Eurasian jay  
> \- Sasha’s daemon: William (Will), ferret  
> \- Jon’s daemon: Russian Blue housecat
> 
> Tell me your favorite line, if you like :)


End file.
